


Excerpts from The Therapy of Marvin: by Dr. Mendel

by publishthewholeofthis



Series: Love Can Tell a Million (Modern) Stories [2]
Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But Like Not Good Therapy, Cheating, Coming Out, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Marvin (Falsettos) Being an Asshole, Mendel Tries, Pre-Canon, Questionable Doctor/Patient Friendship, Sad Marvin (Falsettos), Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publishthewholeofthis/pseuds/publishthewholeofthis
Summary: He looks really haughty for a grown man whose mother could drag him to therapy for some alleged mental breakdown without ever stepping foot in the state of New York. Not that Mendel would ever voice his observation out loud. It’s good to know child assholes grow up to be fully grown adult assholes.Can be read alone.
Relationships: Jason & Marvin (Falsettos), Marvin & Mendel Weisenbachfeld, Marvin/Trina (Falsettos), Whizzer Brown/Marvin(mentioned)
Series: Love Can Tell a Million (Modern) Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/986478
Comments: 13
Kudos: 21





	1. Scene One - August

**Author's Note:**

> I AM BACK!
> 
> Just so y'all know, the closest knowledge of psychiatry I possess comes from a couple of psych classes I took and almost failed. But you know Mendel also sucks at the whole therapy thing so I guess it works out. Hope you all enjoy part one!

Mendel Weisenbachfeld pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation and releases a long, deep sigh, wishing the breathing techniques he often gave to his patients would work on him just once. _Close your eyes. Breathe in through your nose. Count to six: one, two, three, four, five, six. Good. Now exhale through your mouth – six seconds. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Begin again._

Clearly, this is his mother’s fault, because if Mendel had any semblance of control in his own life, he wouldn’t have touched this file with a ten-foot pole. This probably isn’t even allowed, there’s got to be a ton of ethical reasons why it’s wrong to treat someone he has a personal relationship with, right? Even if said personal relationship can be chalked up to a fun little label described as: “we were forced to hang out occasionally as kids, there was a stint of time in which he full-on bullied me, oh right and then he was a witness to the worst day of my life before we never had to see each other again.”

“You have to take him as your patient,” his mother had demanded over the phone as if he was eight years old and his actual job was the equivalent of eating his vegetables or doing his homework.

“Why?” Mendel had whined back, as if he weren’t nearly thirty-six years old with a professional job that he could, theoretically, do whatever the hell he wanted with.

The response had been a very audible scoff. “Because darling. He clearly needs some psychological help, and as it turns out my son is extremely qualified.” She hadn’t mentioned the fact that this would _finally_ get her a leg up in her blood and glory rivalry with Mara Fisher, but her true motivations were always blatant. (“Well now, it seems as though Mendel’s ‘useless’ doctorate ended up saving your son from his big fat mental breakdown, Mara. That’s at least five points.”)

* * *

So now Mendel’s in his office, which was once a safe place for patients and psychiatrist alike, fidgeting in his amazing ergonomic office chair, which he paid way too much for it to suddenly feel so uncomfortable, as he’s stared down by Marvin Fisher, which is all wrong, because if one of them has to be intimidating it should be the one in the therapist chair, right??

Every time he manages to get his standard friendly but distanced smile onto his face and builds the courage to ask one simple goddamn question, Marvin’s ice blue glare somehow gets even colder, and his words retreat right back down his throat. Neither of them has spoken for the entire session. They’ve been at this for half an hour.

_So this is my life now._

At this point, Mendel is straining his ears to listen to the nonexistent ticking of the digital clock sitting on the end table next to him just to fill in the overbearing silence. He only has one word written in his notes: _HELP._

“Uh…that’s time,” he croaks out when it’s finally over and Marvin shoots him a self-satisfied smirk as he stands up and disappears out the door. Mendel slinks down into his chair and presses his fingers against the side of his head.

* * *

Marvin comes back next week. Maybe Mendel’s not the only one who can’t escape the oppressive thumb of his mother.

“So…Marvin.” He’s getting a little better at pushing through the threatening glares. “How are you feeling today?”

Marvin’s lips curl into a vicious sneer as he leans forward on the grey couch. “Why the fuck would I tell you?”

He looks really haughty for a grown man whose mother could drag him to therapy for some alleged mental breakdown without ever stepping foot in the state of New York. Not that Mendel would ever voice his observation out loud. It’s good to know child assholes grow up to be fully grown adult assholes.

* * *

“You know, therapy typically works better when we’re having a conversation. A two-way conversation,” Mendel says as he settles into his seat and crosses his legs. There’s a part of him, a part that is still very bitter, that wants to point out that Marvin can keep his mouth closed all he wants and it won’t affect his paycheck, but he keeps it to himself. A private smile sneaks its way to his face, but he conceals it with a quick cough and stares intensely at his notes as if they have any new information for him.

Marvin’s in a different mood today. His usual pissy anger has subsided for once, just to be replaced by quiet moodiness. “I don’t think there’s a point,” he mumbles, more to himself than to his psychiatrist. He’s focused on tugging at the cuff of his shirt sleeve; white, spotless, unwrinkled. “It doesn’t work.”

Mendel glances up in surprise. “Oh? Why do you feel that way?” He asks carefully, tightly gripping his pen between his fingers. He looks at the other man, really looks at him, and catches the signs he missed before. The large bags under his eyes, the heavy exhaustion pushing down on his shoulders, the way his hand subtly shakes as it pulls against the sleeve. _Jesus, when was the last time thing guy slept?_

“I don’t feel, I know.” Marvin rubs a hand over his face and groans. “Self-improvement is a sham because it’s like we all have this credit limit on the amount of good we can achieve in our life. Once you hit yours-” he draws his finger along the line of his neck. “You’re donezo. You can try all you like to push that limit, but it won’t get you anywhere. It’s just a waste of time.”

“It sounds like this philosophy can be used to excuse a lot of toxic behavior.”

Marvin snorts and goes back to staring at his hands. “Yeah, it’s been working pretty well for me.”

* * *

The thing about Marvin is he loves himself. Mendel’s known the guy was a serious narcissist ever since they were eleven and he purposely jumped off the top of the monkey bars and broke his leg and then proceeded to brag about it to the entire school for the rest of the year. If there’s something he doesn’t like about himself, he’s going to find a million other sources to place his blame.

This one happens to be the universe or something equally ridiculous.

But this means there’s something triggering this strange new world view. Something he’s dismissing. Something he feels is out of his control. Maybe it’s the something that’s been causing him to lash out at other people since the beginning of time.

After all, people aren’t just born dickheads, right?


	2. Scene Two - September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mendel tries to get Marvin to talk about his relationships with various degrees of success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up so much longer than I anticipated. I literally have so many deadlines and assignments due any day now but instead, I have eleven pages of Falsettos fanfic? Yeah, that sounds about right.
> 
> Let me know what you think though! Comments will power me through the intense finessing I'll be doing!

“How about your relationships?” Mendel begins, noticing the way Marvin flinches ever so slightly at the question, staring hard at something above the psychiatrist’s head. Mendel knows there’s a picture hanging on the wall behind him: an empty beach soothed with dark ocean waters and a full moon in the sky. It’s a little basic for his taste, but his patients seem to find it calming. “How’s Jason?”

He’s figured the kid is the best place to start, and he’s rewarded with the way Marvin immediately relaxes his shoulders and settles his back against the cushions of the couch. He finally makes eye contact, and for once the look isn’t full of blatant animosity. “He’s absolutely brilliant, the top of his class. His teacher told us he could skip a grade, but my wife is afraid he’ll get behind socially.” He rolls his eyes in obvious disdain, and Mendel gets the feeling that if he were to put his foot down and throw a fit, he’d get his way.

“Do you agree with her?”

The younger man scoffs. “No, of course not. You know I skipped sixth grade and I did fine for myself.” Mendel should get a medal for his incredible poker face. “But it’s really a nonissue. Jason’s enjoying himself, he loves being the smartest in the room.”

There’s probably a large dose of projection in that statement, but he’ll let it go for the moment. “And how would you describe your relationship with your son?”

“Solid,” Marvin answers back immediately, a small grin spreading across his face. It’s his first sincere smile since he started therapy. “I love that kid more than I ever thought I could love a person. He takes after me, you know?”

_Poor kid._

“I’ve been teaching him chess, which is one of the few things my father bothered to teach me.”

_An interesting bit about the father. Jot that down._

“And Jason, he just gets it.”

“That’s good,” Mendel says agreeably with a slight nod. “Now Marvin, you said you’ve recently been called to work more hours-”

“Yes,” Marvin cuts in, rubbing a hand down the top of his thigh. “We’re working on opening a new branch by the end of the year, so there’s a lot we need to do to be ready for it. I’ve been picking up some overtime whenever I can, so I’ve unfortunately had to come home a little later more nights than I would like to.”

Mendel finds it interesting that Marvin’s cut out valuable work time to come to therapy every Tuesday at eleven am, but he’s not going to comment on it. Mental health should be prioritized after all. “Right. Do you notice if your new schedule has any impact on your relationship with your son?”

He shakes his head firmly. “Absolutely not. I may be busier during the week, but I always set time aside for him.”

Mendel figures now is as good a time as any to get less than the sugar-coated ‘everything’s perfect’ answers. Clearly, things are more bitter than Marvin is admitting, why else would he be here? “Is there any aspect of your relationship with your son in which you feel less confident? Anything you wish you could change?”

The answer is only a confused crease in between his patient’s eyebrows, so Mendel elaborates: “You told me you had Jason seven months after you got married. Do you feel like the pregnancy pressured-”

“I never told you that,” Marvin cuts in, his voice sounding like the audible translation of a dog’s piloerection.

“What?”

The ice-cold stare of death is back, taunting him for thinking even for a second that his office has once again become a safe space. He frantically flips through his notes, trying to find some reference to the rushed wedding and the pregnancy and- _oh, damn it._

 _I love my mother, I really do._ Is the mantra he repeats to himself, even as he hunches into his once so comfortable chair to hide his burning hot ears. “I am _so_ sorry.”

* * *

“I have a question.” Marvin makes his demand the moment he barges in, throwing his suit jacket onto the back of the couch before flopping onto the couch so aggressively the springs loudly squeal in protest.

Mendel tries to keep the amiable look on his face. “Well, that’s typically my-”

“Is that why you decided to treat me?” Marvin leans over his knees and watches him with narrowed eyes. “To set up a gossip group about my life? Is my mom involved? Because Jesus Christ, the last thing I need is her openly breathing down my neck and I swear Mendel I am going to sue you within an inch of your life!”

“No!” It comes out way too squeaky than Mendel likes, so he clears his throat. “Of course, that’s not what I’m doing. I can assure you Marvin, nothing we talk about here ever leaves this room.” He rubs the back of his neck until it burns and curses himself again for taking this patient. _I knew this would be too weird, and I did it anyway. What the hell am I trying to prove?_ “Unfortunately, doctor-patient confidentiality isn’t a good enough reason to stop my mother from trying to milk me for information. I don’t tell her anything but… well you’ve met her.”

Marvin’s jaw tightens for a second before he sighs tiredly and slumps against the cushions. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Mine too.” He picks at a piece of fuzzy red lint that is clinging to his black slacks. “You ever feel like they’ve been pitting us against each other all our lives? Like even now they’re only watching us to see who’s fucking up and who’s coming out on top?”

“All the time,” Mendel agrees with a nod, resting his notes on his knee. “I think my mom’s still upset that yours married into the Fishers and I was only born to exact her social revenge.” He hopes his dramatization, though unfortunately based in reality, will lighten the mood if only slightly.

It seems to miss the mark completely as Marvin’s frown deepens. He opens his hand and lets the ball of red lint drop to the floor. “I wonder which of us is on the top now,” he says sullenly.

“Do you want to talk about your parents, Marvin?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. You were there long enough to get the gist anyway.”

Mendel remembers Mr. Fisher’s busy work schedule that kept him out of town most of the time and Mrs. Fisher’s demanding social life that drew her away from the home. He remembers begrudgingly taking Marvin home with him too many days in eighth grade because no one was there to pick him up after school. He remembers the annoying fits he would throw just to get an ounce of attention. He wonders if it ever got better in high school, or if Marvin just spent countless hours alone in that huge house without even Mendel to bother.

* * *

“Let’s talk about your wife.”

Marvin looks like he just took a punch to the gut, all the color in his face drains instantly. “Why?” He gasps out after he recovers from momentarily forgetting how to breathe.

Mendel offers him a calming smile. “We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” He doesn’t bring this up as often as he could, honestly if he reminded Marvin every time the guy looked uneasy about a topic they would be resorting back to the silent staring. Today, his patient looks like he may be on the verge of a panic attack, so he may just leave it alone for now.

Marvin’s nothing if not a stubborn bastard constantly trying to save face. He squeezes his eyes closed and forces a long deep breath. “No, I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth. “Of course, I’m not uncomfortable, she’s my wife.”

“Okay. Well, let me know if anything gets too personal for you.” He gets a blue-eyed glare, but that just comes with the territory. “So Marvin, we’ve been seeing each other for nearly two months, and yet you’ve hardly even mentioned your wife. Judging by your reaction when I brought her up, I’d say you have some anxieties concerning Trina. What do you think?”

“I think you’re being ridiculous.”

Mendel fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Marvin. It’s perfectly normal to find your marriage has hit a bit of a rough patch from time to time, but it’s something we can work through.” Of course, it isn’t exactly considered perfectly normal to break into a cold sweat as soon as your therapist so much as hints at them, but that’s neither here nor there.

“Well it’s not perfectly normal for me,” Marvin states proudly. “I haven’t brought up Trina because I thought we were here to discuss my issues, and she’s not an issue. She’s a perfect wife, a lot of people have congratulated me on how lucky I am.”

“I’m sure she is.” Mendel’s never met Mrs. Fisher, but he’s sure that anyone who can deal with Marvin on a daily basis must have the heart of an angel. “Would you say the two of you have a strong emotional connection?”

Marvin raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Good. And how would you describe your intimate connection?”

This gets a full-body flush from Marvin, though whether it’s from embarrassment or rage or some mixture of both is still up for grabs. “I don’t see how this is any of your business!” He sputters indignantly. “Is this normal for you? Do you just try to perve in on all your patients’ sex lives, Mendel? That might explain why there’s never anyone in your waiting room.”

Mendel heaves a deep sigh. “You’re my last patient before lunch; who do you expect to be waiting two hours before their appointment? And this has nothing to do with my personal interest in your sex life and everything to do with you. Sometimes our lives are just so busy and so complicated with work and kids and finances and some things just slip under the cracks. And at first, they don’t seem like a big deal but then next thing you know they’ve caused a chasm to form between the two of you. So, it’s important to be intentional with all your relationships, but especially the one with your wife, right?”

Marvin nods slightly to at least convey he hasn’t completely tuned him out yet, so he continues. “Intimacy doesn’t have to be all about sex either, it’s about showing your wife that you love her. I can’t imagine Trina’s too thrilled with all the late hours you’ve been working. How about we think of a way you can let her know that even though this is a necessity for now, you still love and appreciate her?”

“Oh, I can tell you’re speaking from your loads of marital experience,” Marvin snipes, and dear God Mendel has never had to so desperately fight the urge to smack a patient upside the head. _Just breathe._ “Listen, Trina knows I’m doing what I can to provide for my family. She respects that. Now like I said at the beginning of this session, I don’t have any problems with my wife. But I’m starting to have one with you.”

Maybe he should just leave the wife subject alone for now.

* * *

Mendel thinks Mendel From This Morning is the stupidest person in existence.

Mendel from this morning woke up with the bright idea to try something new today that would finally get him a better look into Marvin’s psyche. Something that would help him figure out what was behind all the grouchy and temperamental behavior, the constant sleep-deprived look, and the strong avoidance of his own wife. Well, it’s probably an affair, but Mendel From This Morning wanted to get into the nitty-gritty of why he thought this affair was necessary to begin with.

“I’m not going to steer the conversation at all today,” Mendel From Twenty Minutes Ago had stupidly said with a grin ignorant to all the headache he was causing himself. “Today is completely up to you.”

Now twenty minutes later, he’s still stuck listening to this asinine rant about Marvin’s coworker Cory. In all honestly, he doesn’t really sound _that_ bad, sure he seems a little abrasive and annoying, but he does his job, even if he gets it done in a slightly different way that Marvin describes as being “absolutely wrong.” One would think the kid is only a few misplaced files away from giving him a damn aneurism.

“I swear, this little shit does it on purpose!” Marvin growls. “Just to piss me off.”

“Marvin.” Mendel has his hands folded across his lap in a subconsciously pleading gesture. “Have you ever noticed how critical it is for you to stay in control of every situation in your life? That went you feel like that control is taken from you you don’t even know how to handle it?”

Marvin blinks at him in confusion. “Whatever happened to you not steering the conversation today, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mendel: I have no personal interest in your sex life, Marvin.  
> Mendel in Act One: Does she sleep in the nuuuuuuuuuuuuuude?


	3. Scene Three - October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mendel finally gets the answer he's been looking for, but this is only the beginning of his troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I have returned with another chapter for you lovelies. Remarkably, all the assignments I blew off did not end up killing me. Happy holidays to you all, you are amazing, I love you, and hopefully, 2021 sucks way less. 
> 
> Now, enjoy some sad Marvin, very concerned Mendel, and a lot of professional boundaries being completely disregarded but you knew that one already.

There’s something odd about Marvin today, Mendel noticed the moment he sat down. Now in the past few months, he’s had the immense pleasure of seeing Marvin in a colorful array of different emotions, most of which were some shade of angry but today is something completely different.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Marvin mentions near the end; they only have a few minutes left but there’s something about his tone that Mendel picks up on immediately. “About my need for control in my life? And I think you’re right.”

First thing’s first, Mendel wants to know if he’s on drugs, how much, and what kind because there’s got to be some long elaborate list of things Marvin would rather do than admit he’s right about anything ever. He tries to handle the situation with grace, he really does, but it still comes out in a completely flabbergasted, “Uh, I’m sorry, what?”

“I said you’re right.”

The fact that Marvin repeats himself is even more baffling. Maybe Mendel didn’t wake up this morning, and this is all some elaborate dream reality with an alternate version of Marvin who isn’t a complete ass and listens to his psychiatrist at least sixty percent of the time and actually takes responsibility for his own actions. Clearly, that would be more believable than this. He subtly moves to pinch at the skin of his wrist and twists. Nothing happens. _Huh._

So that means he still has an actual patient in front of him right now, one who would benefit from Mendel actually paying attention, so as strange as it is he focuses. “This is a very different attitude than the one you had last session, Marvin,” he notes. “Is there a reason for this change of thinking?”

Marvin licks his lips, and his eyes, though glued to the floor, are clear and determined. “Yeah actually.” His voice is shaking at the edges of his words, and Mendel realizes he’s nervous. Usually, when Marvin gets skittish around a topic, Mendel has to drag him through it like a stubborn mule until one or both of them gives up entirely. But today, today Marvin wants to talk about it, even if it terrifies him. Mendel can’t help but feel a little tingle of pride warming in his chest.

“I’ve been doing a little bit of self-reflection, uh when I’m having trouble sleeping? Which is almost every night, so it’s been fun.” He forces out a small, bitter laugh and wrings his hands together. “And I’ve realized I’m only ever comfortable when I’m in complete control of everything. And hell, half the time my legs are in the air and I can’t even tell which way is up, but I need things to be right, and if something is wrong then it’s all I can think about: how wrong it is and what I have to do to make it right and get it to fit where it should and-”

Marvin sucks in a quick breath and squeezes his eyes closed. “Mendel. You swear you’re not going to tell anyone what I’m about to tell you?”

Mendel smiles encouragingly, hoping his portraying the kind, trustworthy professional he’s trying to be. “Of course I won’t.”

“Okay,” Marvin whispers, his voice barely audible. “Mendel, I…I think I might be gay.”

* * *

Logically, Mendel gets that this isn’t at all what being stood up is like but he still can’t shake the feeling that he put on his best suit and tie, somehow finagled a reservation at one of the fancy restaurants in Manhattan, and survived driving in the city only to sit alone at a table for two for hours, sipping his water and trying really hard to ignore the pitying looks he's getting from the waitress until she decides to finally put him out of his misery and kick him out as kindly as she can and-

Wow. Maybe he has some residual trauma there. But still. This is not like that at all.

Except, in a way, it totally is.

They have been making _progress._ Sure, Marvin had left his big revelation until the literal final moment and then proceeded to hightail it out of the building before Mendel even had a chance to respond, but it was still glorious progress. Something he had been looking forward to diving into. An opportunity to actually be allowed to guide his patent through his struggles to understand his sexuality. Mendel was positively buzzing with anticipation.

But now it’s 11:45 on a Tuesday morning, and he’s staring at an empty couch. He can even hear the sickeningly sweet, “I’m sorry hon, but I don’t think he’s coming,” in his ears.

* * *

Marvin doesn’t come this week either. Honestly, Mendel doesn’t know why he even got his hopes up.

* * *

_"Mendel Ezekiel Weisenbachfeld, you are going to kill me. Is that something you want to be responsible for? The death of your own mother?”_

The man in question manages to reign in the wry smile threatening to break through as he aggressively slams the freezer door shut and refuses to make eye contact with the woman he’s Facetiming. No matter how dramatic or overused the phrase is, it’s supposed to be taken seriously. That had been the rule at twelve and it’s still the rule at thirty-six.

“Of course I don’t, Mom,” he replies in the same even tone he uses with his patients. The way her eyes narrow and a single black eyebrow raises in suspicion tells him she catches it. “I’ll be at the wedding, okay? I promise.”

_“And you’ll bring someone?”_

Mendel groans and forces open the frozen meal that will serve as his dinner tonight. “I haven’t really had the time to skulk around singles’ night at the bar. You know I’m-”

 _“Married to your work, yes, yes. You’ve said that plenty of times before darling,”_ she mumbles bitterly _. “Although I think you’d have much better luck finding a woman at Temple if you’d bother to go.”_

“Mom.”

_“But to each his own I suppose. I’ve raised a heathen, that’s my bed and I must lie in it.”_

“Mom!”

 _“I’ll tell your sister to give you a plus one, just in case, okay?”_ His mother smiles, completely at ease with ignoring him for her own agenda. Mendel just sighs and throws his stupid dinner in the microwave.

_“By the way, I spoke with Mara Fisher recently. Would you believe she was bragging about how fast her son completed therapy? As if it was some kind of race! I had to ever so kindly remind her that if Marvin was able to recover so quickly, it was only because my son reached out and helped him.”_

Mendel tears his eyes away from the microwave and walks back to where his phone is propped against the toaster. “Wait, what?”

Alana Weisenbachfeld’s eyes go wide and glimmer with mischief _. “Ah, he didn’t complete his therapy, did he? He caved and walked out as soon as it got too hard. You know, his mother is the same way.”_

“Okay, and we’re done with this conversation,” Mendel scrambles to grab his phone and offers a half-hearted wave to his mother on the other end. “Goodnight, I love you, and I’ll see you in December.” He somehow manages to hang up before she can get out any more sharp quips or thinly veiled insults, and he counts it as a miracle.

* * *

_"Hello, this is Marvin Fisher.”_

“You can’t just quit therapy, Marvin!”

_“Mendel, what the hell? How did you get my work number?”_

“I…that’s not important, okay?”

_“It isn’t? Because I’m pretty sure whatever your methods are, they’re completely illegal. Huh, I wonder if I can get you shut down for malpractice.”_

“Listen, is this a little shady? Okay yeah, I’ll admit that it is if that’s how you want to look at it. But I prefer to look at it as me giving a shit about you. Look, what you told me the last time you came in, it’s not something you can just ignore out of existence. I really think you’d benefit from talking-”

_“Ha! Noooo. You see, that’s not happening. I only told you about…about that because I needed to say it out loud just one time. I…had to make sure…it was right.”_

“And now? Did it just magically go away because you said it?”

_“Mendel.”_

“Marvin, my last session ends at three this afternoon. You can do a walk-in appointment, nothing fancy, and we’ll talk as long as you need to. Anything over your usual hour is on me. If you don’t come, then I swear I’ll stop bothering you. I know this whole thing started weird and a little fucked up but I’m here for you, okay?”

_Call ended._

* * *

Mendel sends a few silent prayers of thanks to anyone listening when Marvin creaks open the door and slips into the office. The younger man catches the grin sent his way and rolls his eyes. “Don’t look so damn smug,” he mutters as he sits down. “I’m not fully convinced I shouldn’t leave.” He’s sitting at the very edge of the couch, back painfully straight, and Mendel’s reminded that he needs to proceed with caution.

He decides against reaching for his notes, which are sitting on the table next to him, and instead leans forward to rest his arms against the top of his legs, palms up and open. “Well, nevertheless, I’m glad you came, Marvin.” His patient simply stares at his shoes, so he continues. “Before we begin, I want to touch on something from our last session? You told me you believed this is something wrong and you need to fix it. I would like to be the first to tell you that there is nothing wrong with your sexual orientation, this doesn’t make you wrong or something that needs to be fixed. And it doesn’t matter if you decide to leave after today and never come back, as long as you continue to be open and honest with yourself it can only get better.”

Marvin scoffs a humorless laugh and rests his chin on his steepled fingers. He looks up at Mendel and shakes his head. “You know, I think I’ve always known,” he says softly, all the fight gone from his voice. “But I tried _so hard_ not to be. And here I am now, with a son and a wife, and I’m still trying so hard to not be this way, but I’m failing.” He jerks his head back and sputters frantically, “This could ruin my fucking life.”

“How so?” Mendel asks, looking at the other man evenly.

“Look, all my life I was told what a family is: very Jewish, a providing husband, a loving wife, children, a nice house in a safe neighborhood, financially stable, tight-knit, and perfect!” He takes a shaky breath. “And if anyone knew, if they knew what I am, I’d lose it all. And I can’t afford to fail. I can’t.”

“Who would you be failing by being true to yourself and searching for happiness?”

Marvin smiles bitterly. “Everyone Mendel. Especially myself.” 

* * *

Mendel does the same thing every Halloween. He leaves a bowl of candy out in the waiting room of his practice and another one at the front door of his home, grabs some greasy take out to eat while he watches a decidedly _non-_ horror movie, then pops out his contacts, switches them for his glasses, and reads in bed until he’s finally able to pass out. Honestly, it’s just his normal evening schedule, but with the added candy bits.

Tonight he’s printed out a couple of research articles on psychoanalysis for his bedside reading and snagged an extra bag of those pumpkin candies to snack on. He’s also trying not to think about how lonely and pathetic it makes him look, but he’s not having a lot of success there.

Sighing in frustration, he slaps the papers to the floor and pads over to the bathroom to brush his teeth when he hears a faint noise downstairs. He drops his toothbrush and stills immediately. _Maybe I just imagined it. Oh hell no, there it is again!_ It sounds as though someone is pushing against his front door, he can hear small thuds as though someone is trying to discreetly break it open.

Mendel reaches for the first weapon he can find – a foot-long glass fish that usually perches on one of the shelves of his bathroom – and creeps down the stairs. If he’s about to get robbed, he and this fish are going down fighting. He positions his weapon into the air and presses against the wall next to his door, and turns the knob, pulling open the door and preparing to strike.

“Marvin?”

He has a lot of questions. Mainly, what the hell? But it’s past midnight, so it’s technically November now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have a headcanon that involves Mendel wearing contacts and big chunky glasses around the house? Yes I do. I think it's adorable. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk


End file.
